


Acceptance (For You and Me)

by MoMoMomma



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magic-Users, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: Rook always knew John was different from his brothers. He just wouldn't have ever guessed he was different in this way too.
Relationships: Male Deputy | Judge/John Seed
Comments: 7
Kudos: 103





	Acceptance (For You and Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [9shadowcat9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/9shadowcat9/gifts).



Of all the shit Rook’s had to deal with since he got to Hope County, this is by and far the worst. Not in terms of dangerous or legitimately frightening. But he’s never actively stared down someone who was going to be hurt if he didn’t behave in just the right way. 

Joey looks like she’s gone through the fucking wringer already. And Rook knows that any stray glance or word will be enough to set John off and make this whole situation go from mildly scary to bone chillingly terrifying. He doesn’t know Hudson very well but he still doesn’t want to watch her die because he pissed John off enough that baby brother threw a particularly violent hissy fit. 

“I’ll confess.” Rook spits the second he can, watching and hearing Joey panic behind her gag. “Yes. Me. I’ll do it just...get her out of here.”

If Rook talks shit and gets himself murdered, then it’s his own damn fault. He won’t have another person’s life on his conscious. 

John seems cautiously pleased, for the moment, his smile sinister but real. He wheels Joey off despite her screamed protests and Rook tries to convey as much calm as he can with his weak grin and his wink. He doesn’t exactly feel very threatened, especially not one on one, but he’s not about to act calm enough that John brings backup.

Part of Rook’s “specialty training” when he entered the academy with his gifts was in projecting shields, but he’s not certain how well his barriers will stand up to rapid fire from a bevy of AK-47’s. 

In another situation, he might find it amusing how his training on things that “will likely never happen but still exist in the curriculum” is coming in handy now that he’s in the hellhole that is Hope County. 

While John’s still gone, aware the time is ticking, Rook gently tests the bond around his wrists and ankles. Too damn tight to actually create a small fire and burn them off without scorching his skin in the process, and he’d probably set off some of the sprinklers in the bunker. Normally Rook would default to disapparating, but he’s never done it while being bound before and the last thing he wants to do is splice himself and reform across the room with one of the ropes coming out his eye. 

Throwing himself down the stairs is an option. He could create a small barrier around his spine and head, make sure nothing got bumped too hard in the fall. And if the chair goes to pieces, he could easily slip free of the bindings. He’s done it before, especially running around with Sharky, covering bits of his body in protective unnatural layers to make sure he actually walked away from a battle. 

“So! Deputy!”

Fuck. Somewhere, in some old dusty academy room, one of Rook’s teachers is laughing his ass off as he thinks about Rook’s consistent remarks in “has trouble making decisions in emergency scenarios.”

“John.” He tries for level and halfway manages it, if a bit testy on the very end of the name. “Any chance you’ll just let me go?”

“Oh, how _funny_ you are.” John leans back against the macabre workbench with his arms across his chest. “Unfortunately, no. You’ve agreed to the atonement and atone you shall! I promise, if you are as malleable as you seemed when rescuing your dear Deputy Hudson, this won’t be difficult at all.”

Rook thinks about what he’d heard them talk about in the van the first time John had tried to get his claws into him. Remembers that confession without pain isn’t worth anything, isn’t a true confession. 

He’s not about to call John on the lie but it’s tempting.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Rook doesn’t roll his eyes but he wants to. “I’m not some sinful demon sent to Earth. I’m just a dude.”

“Oh there is sin in everyone. It just takes a careful eye to spot it.”

“In everyone, huh? Even the Father?”

Rook sees John’s eye twitch. It’s not much, nothing gets past that plastic mask, but it’s something. A small spot of weakness.

“The Father knows of sin. You’ve seen his Atonement.”

“And what about you? Do you know about sin too?”

John grits his teeth and Rook mentally cheers. He’s probably not used to people getting snarky with him when they’re below ground and tied up, but Rook’s got nothing to lose now. Whatever John decides to do, he’s going to do it to Rook and Rook knows how to use his powers well enough that he can probably survive all the attempts.

It’s how he’s made it this far, after all. 

“I know well of sin. I know it...intimately.” John’s hands drifts up, across the scar near his collarbones. “I was not without sin. But I have atoned. And now I may cast the stones as I see fit.”

_That_ opens up a whole new line of questioning. Rook poking at various soft parts of John’s grandstanding, taking his knees out from under him every single time he gets a chance. It’s not getting him out of the bunker any faster but he also doesn’t have anything carved into him and Rook counts that as a win. 

Though he’s aware he’s toeing the line of sanity when John starts pacing like a caged tiger, back and forth in front of him, the knife sharpener back in his hand and being waved to illustrate his snapped words.

“You won’t _distract_ me! I know what you’re doing, I know what you’re planning. I will scrub the sin from your soul even if I have to carve it out of you.”

“You have to, right?” Rook fires back, “isn’t that what Joseph said? I gotta get into Eden or Johnny gets a one-way fuck you ticket to the Bad Place.”

“Shut up!” 

The sharpener comes at him so fast Rook barely has a chance to pitch his chair onto it’s side and dodge it. He hits the floor and closes his eyes, cursing his own shock. The lights above them are blown now, probably a power surge of his, a failed barrier. He hasn’t done something like that since he was young, way before the academy, when he’d get frustrated at homework or troubles with his friends and his parents would be cleaning up shattered lightbulbs. 

Except…

John’s staring at him in horror through the flickering of emergency lights. Face pale in the lower light, eyes so dark and wide Rook’s surprised he can’t see his reflection in them. He’s shaking, Rook realizes as he stares a little closer, a little harder, a fine tremor that’s making him shudder in place like a vibration.

“I...I didn’t...you can’t…”

“John?” Rook tries softly, shifting against the ground and trying, once more and still in vain, to reach out despite the ropes around his arms. “What happened?”

“I was in control. I _am_ in control! It was...it was an accident and I didn’t...I didn’t _do_ anything!”

John goes dead silent for a second, swaying on his feet. His eyes aren’t focused anymore. He looks, for all the world, like a zombie that’s come back to life. A working body but the mind so far away it might as well be on another planet.

“I didn’t do it. Because I couldn’t have. Normal people can’t make lights explode. And I’m normal. I’m not cursed or sinful, I’m just...normal.”

Oh holy fuck.

“John,” Rook says slowly, carefully, “are you...you can make lights explode when you get frustrated. And you can probably--what was it--make stuff float if you’re happy. And sometimes you can create little things to protect yourself, little shields to make sure you don’t get hurt near as bad as you should.”

John’s lost all color now. He’s unsteady, almost looking like he’s going to pass out or throw up. He drifts towards Rook like he’s being pulled by something invisible, steps out of sync, more like he’s falling forwards rather than walking. He collapses down beside Rook, onto his knees, peering down at him like Rook’s suddenly got all the answers, like Rook’s a lifeline and he’s near drowning.

“How did you--How do you know that?”

Rook takes a deep breath. Remembers his training on keeping secrets. Remembers how important it is that they help and support each other, keep each other hidden from others.

“Because I can do it too. I’m just like you, John.”

“Lies.” 

It’s little more than a sob, caught raw in John’s throat, and Rook wiggles in place, pulling pointedly at his ties.

“Let me go. And I’ll show you I’m not lying.”

.O.

So John’s magic. And, apparently, it fucking terrifies him. Rook’s been thinking about it since John untied him, had a _very_ stilted conversation in which he refused to actually confirm or deny anything, and then sent him out of the bunker like Rook was a demon. A part of him thinks it’s karma, in a way, that John’s so damn insistent on being uppity and above it all and he’s _literally_ not like most people in the world.

But a part of him is just...sad. Rook’s parents accepted it so readily--which makes sense because his grandma had had the same abilities--and did everything they could to foster his abilities. Made a space for him to safely explore what he could and couldn’t do, sent him to an academy to learn proper ways to use his powers to function in the world. 

John, he feels, didn’t get the same reception or acceptance. 

So when John gets some Peggies to stick a note on his windshield one night--Cheeseburger is _so_ fired from guard duty--asking him to meet him at his ranch, Rook accepts. Cautiously and carefully, but he accepts. Spouts off some excuses to his rightfully suspicious friends and walks off just as the sun is setting.

There aren’t any Peggies wandering around, at least not that Rook can see, and he’s able to easily walk up to the front doors and rap his knuckles against them without getting shot at. He’s only mildly surprised when the door cracks open just enough for him to spot John’s baby blues before he’s seized by the front of his shirt and yanked inside so fast his teeth rattle. 

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

“Hello to you too, John.” Rook brushes his hands away, ignoring John’s frantic gaze and the tension that hangs around him like a cloak. “Yeah, I thought that would be a _great_ idea. Hey guys, gonna step out for a bit! Not doing much exciting, just gonna go have a chat with one of the cult leaders that’s trying to kill or convert everyone in the valley!”

Irritation is good. When John is irritated he’s not panicked, doesn’t look like there’s a noose around his throat. He curls his lip in a snarl before seemingly catching himself, stepping back to create space between them and clearing his throat with a gesture towards the large sofa near the fire. 

“Sit? We could--I have coffee? Or tea, if you prefer?”

“Do I look like I drink tea?”

John rolls his eyes and stalks towards the kitchen, giving Rook a moment to look around as he meanders towards the couch. It’s a _very_ nice house, the sort of house Rook always imagined when he thought of poncy vacation cabins. He settles onto the couch, sinking into it with a small sigh and, after a moment of thought, toes off his boots to stretch his toes towards the warmth of the fire.

This is Heaven. Heaven on Earth, he’s pretty sure. 

If John irritates him too much in the future, Rook will just break into his house instead of blowing up his shit. This seems far more rewarding. Maybe he’ll bring Sharky and Hurk, leave a real mess for John to clean up depending on how much he pisses him off.

“Here.” 

Rook accepts the cup of coffee with a nod of thanks, taking a small sip and sighing when the warmth seems to pool inside him. Cozy inside and out now. This really is the life.

Except John, who’s sitting on the couch beside him now and looking into his own coffee cup like he’s contemplating drowning in it, doesn’t seem to agree.

“Might as well start talking.” Rook murmurs over the rim, watching John’s eyes flick to him, the stress in those blue depths. “S’what you asked me here for, right? To talk?”

John huffs and takes a deep breath, seemingly not bothered by the fact that the coffee is still hot as hell. He wraps his hands around the mug, addresses it instead of Rook when he starts to speak.

“It didn’t...manifest immediately. I didn’t know when I was young. It happened during my time with my adopted parents. I imagine it’s what set them off, in truth. I wasn’t focusing, I wasn’t paying any attention and I wanted a toy to come closer. And then suddenly...it was there. Had moved across the floor all by itself.”

John chokes something that Rook thinks is supposed to be a laugh. Except for nothing about this situation warrants laughter.

“My parents didn’t believe that I couldn’t explain it. Didn’t believe it was an accident. They said it was proof.” John white knuckles the mug. “Proof that I was _sinful_. That there was something inside me that was evil. And...well...I suppose you can assume how it went from there.”

Jesus.

Rook’s vaguely aware, remembers the chatting in the interrogation room before everything changed. How easily John talked about being abused, being beaten. Like it was normal. 

John wasn’t just not accepted for his gift. He was actively punished for something he had no control over. 

“I’m...so sorry.”

“I deserved it.” John flicks his eyes over and there’s a hatred there that isn’t, for once, directed at Rook. “I am _cursed_. This...thing inside me. What I can do. Joseph and Jacob can’t do it, I know they would have told me. It’s just...just me.”

“It doesn’t affect everyone.” Rook says softly. “I can do it and my brother can’t. It’s...picky, I guess. With genetics.”

John sags back into the couch, cup balanced on his stomach. He rubs a hand over his face, hatred gone and pure exhaustion in its place. 

“When I was younger...I used to pray my brothers were like me. So I wouldn’t be alone in the world. But they’re not. And _you_ are.”

“There’s many of us. Just like you and me. Not a ton, but there’s enough. I went to an academy full of them.”

“An academy?” John looks like Rook punched him, eyes wide as he stares over. “Why would you...why would you want to _encourage_ it?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I?” Rook fires back, just as astonished. “John, I can make things move. I can create shields to protect me and the people I care about. I can start fires and summon water and pop from one place to another and save a fuck ton on gas. That’s...that’s _amazing_.”

John’s quiet for a long time. Long enough that Rook finishes off his coffee and nearly pushes to his feet, ready to call it a night. It’s clear that they both have a very different view of their gift and Rook’s not about to sit here and argue when they’re both so set in their beliefs. It would be a waste of breath and probably give him a hell of a headache. 

But finally, just as he’s shifting his weight to stand, John speaks up. Quiet and almost tentative.

“Could you...could you show me? I don’t...I don’t want it. I wish I didn’t have it. But if I can control it...maybe I can hide it.”

Joseph and Jacob don’t know, Rook realizes as he watches John studiously refuse to meet his gaze. If they did, Rook can only imagine what they would do. Jacob might not care but Joseph...if the people who adopted John were God-fearing assholes who thought beating sin out of someone was acceptable, who the hell knows what the leader of a literal cult who thinks God talks to him will do. 

No wonder John seems so stressed all the goddamn time. 

Rook should tell him to fuck himself. Should bargain this. Tell him he’ll only teach him if he stops all this cult shit and tries to become a good human for once in his life. 

But…

“Alright. Fine. I’m not a teacher but I can try. Just...you gotta chill on the Valley, for a bit. I’m not gonna be able to meet up and teach you anything if I have to keep going on rescue missions because the Peggies are snatching up everyone they see.”

John bites his lip, brain visibly working behind his eyes, and Rook heaves a sigh of relief when he finally nods. He can’t assume John will keep his word, but it’s enough just to have the hope. A few days rest here and there instead of “Deputy Rook, my son/daughter/mom’s dog was taken by the cult!”

“Alright. Let me see if I still have some of my old books. I’ll be back in a few nights and we can start.”

“A few nights isn’t a very good timeframe. How am I supposed to explain the lack of guards at my home while I wait for you?”

“Trust me,” Rook sets his cup on the table with a clank and pats a hand on John’s knee. “Trained or not? You really don’t need the protection.”

.O.

Admittedly, it takes a little longer than Rook would like to find the time. Even if the Valley seems calmer--though that’s probably just the placebo effect--there’s a lot to do in the rest of Hope County. He winds up using a lot of his powers trying to escape from Angels when Dr. Lindsay’s plan goes awry in the worst way and Rook doesn’t want to go in teaching John on a low battery.

But now he knows that shields can be used to seal over wounds and stop the bleeding, so he’ll just consider it to be “gathering teachable material.”

Which is good because the other option is shouting at Dr. Lindsay until the Sheriff drags him out by his collar which won’t look very respectable of him. 

John’s little radio calls aren’t helping either. They start three days in, which is more time than Rook honestly thought John capable of waiting. Coded messages about Rook meeting with him, coming to confess, to _spill_ what he holds inside. 

Rook understands trying to dance around a point, to some degree, but John’s orders border on innuendo during a good day and on the particularly bad days, Rook has to dodge accusations that he’s sleeping with the Baptist. Well, accusations and one very pointed question from Hurk, complete with a gesture of a beer can that nearly slops it over Rook’s shoulder.

_”Didja finally realize maybe you can magic dick him outta insanity land?”_

It’s going on a week past their little impromptu heart to heart that Rook manages to sneak away, backpack full of books smuggled out of his old house, creeping up to the back door of the ranch and listening closely. He can’t hear anything inside, still no guards posted, but he’s not about to walk in like he owns the place. 

Rook takes a deep breath, tries to calm his heartrate, and focuses on John. Everything about him, from his voice to his eyes to the way he holds himself. 

“Loquor.”

_”I’m here. Let me in.”_

Well. First things first, he’s going to teach John how to code his thoughts. Telepathy is a pretty advanced skill, Rook’s only as good at it as he is because of his time in the Army. When someone is bleeding out, looking into their mind is usually a better way of getting info on what’s actually injured than hoping they can form a sentence in between screams. 

But he just got a whole hell of a lot of images of what John thinks about when he hears Rook’s voice and most of them involve him very, very...naked.

John pops the back door open, looking at him cautiously, and Rook hitches his backpack a little higher with one crooked brow. 

“For what it’s worth, you have a very flattering image of me in your mind. Also, I used to tan naked. So the tan lines aren’t very realistic.”

Well, he’s never quite seen anyone go from guarded to irritated so fast. John’s brows slam down, mouth twisting into a snarl, and Rook barely has a chance to palm the door before it shuts and whacks him in the nose.

“Stop being a little baby. So you wanna fuck me, so do a lot of people.” John cautiously lets up on the pressure as Rook uses his free hand to tap his temple. “Telepathy. Not an easy thing to do, but I can do it. You’d be surprised what people think when they don’t know someone else can listen in.”

“That...could be useful.” John allows as Rook rolls his eyes, muscling past him and into the house.

“No using your powers for evil. That’s rule number one.”

Rook drops his backpack, ignores John’s irritated grumbling from behind him. It looks...different, in here. Last time he was in, there was a big ass table a few feet from him, on the other side of the fireplace. Now it’s all cleared, down to just a big rug on the floor with small indents to indicate anything was ever present. Probably for the best, the last thing Rook wants is for John to lose it because he’s frustrated or because Rook ran his mouth and fling 300 pounds of wood at his face accidentally. 

“These are all the basics. Read them. Hide them.” Rook digs the books out and hands them over, watching as John takes them like someone being passed a live snake. “They were expensive and if one of the Peggies find them and burn them for witchcraft, you’re gonna have to figure out how to order me new ones.”

“I wasn’t aware you were so...protective over your curse.” John sneers, but he’s already flipping the top book open, eyes sprinting across the pages. 

“Not a curse. And it saved my ass more than once, especially lately. For right now, though, put those down. We’re gonna work on some beginner things.”

“Like what?”

Rook will give John credit, he carries the books over to his bookshelf and neatly slides them in, behind some books and wedged between copies of boring looking old tomes. If he didn’t watch John do it, he’d never assume they were there at all.

And he highly doubts any of the Peggies go looking through John’s personal tiny library for some reading material. 

“Got anything light and preferably not breakable? Solid too.”

“I have a few metal vases. And some chairs that should withstand any force.”

Rook stares at John for a moment before he realizes there’s not a hint of humor in the man’s face. He scrubs his hands over his cheeks, groaning softly. 

“No. Think _way_ smaller. Like...you have any forks or spoons here?”

John frowns, clearly displeased, but obediently trots off towards the kitchen. He comes back with a knife, fork, and spoon. All of them solid metal, unlikely to snap or melt under pressure, and Rook takes them with an approving nod.

“Alright. Sit down here.” He settles onto his ass, indicates a spot a few feet in front of him. “First thing we’re gonna work on is moving something purposefully. I know you can move things when your emotions are running high, but it’s volatile. Unpredictable.”

“And moving silverware is somehow supposed to be a good lesson?” John folds himself across from him, far more elegant than Rook’s relaxed sprawl. 

“You’d be surprised.” Rook picks up the fork, waggles it. “This is small. It requires concentration. No errant thoughts, total calmness of mind and focused in on the task at hand. Moving big shit is easy once you master the basics, but if you can’t move silverware there’s no chance you’re gonna ever be able to, say, re-route a car coming straight at you.”

“Right.”

John, for his part, is a pretty good student. He asks the right questions, actually listens and digests the material that Rook is doling out. And he keeps going, keeps trying, tweaking every attempt to fit any sort of advice Rook gave. 

But none of the silverware moves and by the time an hour ticks by, John’s sweating and swaying in place. Too pale. 

Rook climbs to his feet, leaves John to focus on the fork for the however-many-eth time, and wanders over to the fridge. He snorts at the stuff John has inside there--how the hell did he get fresh blueberries in Hope County this time of year?--but finds what he’s looking for easily enough. A little more digging produces a glass and Rook fills it to the brim, carting it and the berries back to John.

Who is genuinely, it appears, seconds from passing out.

“Here.” He shoves the glass and container at John, watching as his eyes cross and then refocus, blinking wide up at him. “Eat and drink it all. Using abilities like ours is pretty damn draining on the body and you’re in real danger of going hypoglycemic if you over do it.”

“What’s the science behind that?” John asks, for once not snarky as he settles the berries next to his leg and downs half the orange juice in one go. 

“Power has to come from somewhere. It’s not just the endless well inside of you, it’s gotta draw off something to work properly.”

“But it’s _not_ working properly.” John snaps, throwing a handful of berries into his mouth and grinding them between his teeth. “I haven’t been able to so much as budge a single one of the damn things.”

“It takes time.” Rook soothes, settling back into place across from John and focusing in. 

The silverware rises the second he wants it to, lifting up into the air between them and hovering there. John’s open-mouthed staring beyond it, teeth stained blue, and Rook snorts before making it all move.

Stupid stuff. Forks spinning in mid-air while the knife and the spoon circle around it. The kind of stuff that would amuse kids. But John seems _fascinated_ by it all.

“Will I...Will I be able to do that one day?”

“That and more.” Rook assures, letting everything settle back onto the wood floor softly. “But no more tonight. You over-tax yourself and you won’t be able to do anything for a few days, maybe more depending on how long it takes your body to re-adjust.”

“Of course.”

“I’m serious, John.” Rook points a finger in the air, watching John grumble under his breath. “One hour every twelve hours, no more. And you gotta carbo-load before or after. Keep something on hand like juice or peanut butter too.”

“I will.”

Rook scoops up the tools, crossing to toss them into the sink with a crash, and striding back to sling his backpack onto his shoulder.

“I’m heading out. Can’t be gone too long. I’ll try and make it back tomorrow, maybe the next day.”

“Rook?” John speaks up just as he’s reaching for the door, something soft and almost forlorn in his voice. “Do you...do you truly think I’ll ever be able to control it?”

“A guy as hard-headed as you?” Rook shoots a grin over his shoulder. “I’ve got no doubt in my damn mind.”

.O.

It’s a difficult process. John isn’t exactly embracing his gifts and that makes everything about ten times harder than it should be. By the time Rook went to the Academy, he’d been training at home for years. Little things, nothing close to what they actually taught him there, but he had a basis.

John has nothing but surges in times of crisis. And trying to narrow that down to a focal point has been a struggle like nothing else Rook has ever dealt with.

It takes close to a week. A full week of John practicing and snapping at him over the radio. Rook’s been trying to act like nothing has changed, going into other regions to cause some chaos before dipping back into the Valley where he’s relatively safe. 

He’s settled on the couch, bandaging up his arm from when he didn’t snap a shield down in time to avoid the sharp edge of a hoe from catching him. John’s fairly well stocked with medical supplies and Rook’s never been so pleased to see a med-kit in his life as when he walked in a few days ago and John paled before racing upstairs and coming back down with something that made the medic in him dance with joy. Rook lifts his head, rummaging through for some tape, when he hears it.

A quiet little gasp. Shaky and excited. 

He whips his head around, just in time to see the fork that John’s been laser focused on for the past half hour lift off the table. It’s not steady, shaking in place as it rises, but it’s _rising_. It manages to float up to just over their heads before John makes a hushed little noise, a bit wounded, like a soft groan of pain, and it falls back to the table with a clang.

“Holy shit.”

“I...I did it.” John’s face, pale and sweaty, is spread in a smile so wide it looks like it hurts. “I did it!”

Rook lets out a whoop and reaches out for John before he can think better of it. He’s just intending to be friendly, a good solid hug of congratulations, but John reaches back for him and there’s the brush of a beard against his cheeks before they’re kissing. Chaste and sweet, excitement rolling off them in waves, but they’re _kissing_. 

He’s kissing the Baptist of the Holland Valley. And he’s not really sorry about it. 

John pulls back as suddenly as he’d leaned in, eyes guarded, some of the excitement forcibly yanked back inside him. He’s still got his hands on Rook, one on his shoulder and the other fisted in his shirt. His eyes dart to the fork and back, meeting Rook’s gaze evenly with something like fear in his own.

“I suppose...it’s not just my...curse that makes me different.”

“John, I looked into your mind.” Rook reminds him softly, albeit a bit sarcastically. “Kinda knew it wasn’t just girls you were into.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Come here and kiss me again. See if we can’t give that a proper celebration.”

“I should…” John glances over at the fork, determination sliding into those baby blues, and Rook rolls his eyes even as he cups John’s cheek and drags him back around.

“Nope. That’s enough for tonight. That was a hell of a lot of exertion and you’ve probably got a splitting fucking headache from it, right?”

The crease between John’s brows is all the answer he needs and Rook steals another soft kiss before climbing to his feet. 

“C’mon. We’ll make you something obnoxiously unhealthy and we can wolf it down together.”

“Sharing dinner now?” John asks, unsteadily rising from the couch and following after Rook with one last look towards the forks on the table. 

“Hey, I’m a proper man.” Rook fires over his shoulder with a grin, “you want more kisses? You gotta feed me.”

Rook’s peering into the fridge, bandages still sloppily wrapped around his arm but forgotten in the excitement of the moment. He’s just considering what best to make--John’s got stuff to make pretty much anything he could think of--when arms wrap around his stomach. John lets out a little sigh as he rests his cheek against Rook’s back, nestled in so close he can feel his breathing.

“Thank you. You...You owed me nothing. Less than nothing. And still…”

“People are good, John.” Rook says softly, one hand falling to pat at the ones folded over his abs. “I know you think we’re all sinful assholes, but some of us are good just for the sake of being good.”

He feels John shift. Feels him heave a sigh that gets buried into the fabric of his tee-shirt. 

“Maybe. Just...maybe.”

.O.

“You know, Deputy, maybe you were right.”

“John, it is three o’clock in the morning.”

“Needs must when the devil drives, or so the saying goes. And you were clearly awake so it’s not as though I’m interrupting anything.”

Actually, Rook was asleep. He’s just so used to jumping awake at the first sound of John’s voice through the radio that he woke up instantly. But since he’d rather be used as Peaches’ tug-o-war toy than actually admit that over open air, he simply sags back into the mattress, forearm slung over his eyes as he battles a yawn.

“What do you want, John?”

“I’ve thought about what you’ve said. What you’ve...described. And I think you may be right.”

“I am right about a lot of things.” Rook admits, lifting his arm slightly to check that they’re on the open radio channel before smirking and pressing the button down just a bit vindictively. “Like how I’m right that churches that kidnap people against their will are actually cults and probably not exactly doing what the Bible tells people to do.”

He can only imagine the sour lemon look on John’s face but, surprisingly, he doesn’t follow the tease. Which is sort of disappointing because, as Rook’s learned over the near month since he found out John and he were alike in ways he never would have expected, he and John can go back and forth for _hours_ if given the right topic.

And he’s not just talking about sex. Though, to be fair, there’s been plenty of that too. Much like John dove head first into learning how to control his gift, he also dove headfirst into anything Rook’s been willing to give him.

Which, after the forced dry-spell of moving states and then having to deal with an honest to god cult, has been quite a lot, if he’s being honest.

“Shut up. I mean what you’ve said before. Maybe...maybe we aren’t good enough for Eden. Maybe we never will be. Perhaps the part of us that makes us a good match for one another won’t allow us to pass through the gates.”

Shit. Rook’s had this debate with him before, arguing that the gifts didn’t come from nothing and how can John be so sure that God himself didn’t allow them these powers? Which John had neatly and firmly countered by swearing that if it was a gift from God, Joseph would have it.

Rook hadn’t really had the heart to tell him no God with a lick of sense in their brain would allow Joseph Seed any more power than that which he somehow already managed to get despite being perfectly and boringly human. 

“John, go the fuck to bed. You’re sleep-deprived and delirious.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe. I’ve been practicing what you showed me, after all. It does wear the body down. But my mind and my soul are still strong. And I think...I think it’s alright. Maybe we won’t have Eden but we will always have each other. Bonded together in ways no one else could ever be.”

He’s technically not wrong. People with gifts like theirs do tend to bond to one another stronger than they would others. Shared struggles and all that. 

But John’s backward ass way of confessing that isn’t...it isn’t coming across like…

“Look, John, I--”

“You two mind shutting the fuck up on open airwaves?”

Oh. 

Oh boy.

“Jacob, I--”

“I could not care less. But you’re gonna wake up Joseph and I don’t wanna have to listen to that lecture on top of this romance movie bullshit.”

“Jacob, it’s not what you--”

“Didn’t take you for the type to watch romance movies, Jacob.” Rook can’t help but crack, holding back giggles at the absolute _horror_ in John’s voice. “What’s your favorite? We should compare.”

“I’ll deal with you later, Deputy. Now both of you save your confession bullshit for private and _not_ clogging up my radio feed.”

“Big brother is _maaaad_.” Rook drawls, barely getting the word out before John’s talking again, irritation and embarrassment coloring his words.

“You know what, I take it all back. Everything. I’m going to murder you, Rook.”

“Alright. Sure.” Rook agrees around a yawn, throwing a glance over at the clock on the nightstand. “Just let me get like...three more hours of sleep first, yeah?”

He’s pretty sure that teasing a church leader is a good way to get a one-way EZ-pass to hell. But then again, so is fucking one. And encouraging and training one to use supernatural gifts that they both share.

At least no one can ever accuse Rook of doing things by halves.


End file.
